


How This Ends

by Liravell



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Battle of Brandywine, Battle of Monmouth, Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone is Dead, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied Relationships, Inspired By, Memories, Symbolism, The Gay Trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liravell/pseuds/Liravell
Summary: Those are shattered pieces from the Marquis' life. A life filled with love sour from tears, sorrowful glory and mistakes. A life that was not perfect. This is a tribute not to the Hero of the Two Worlds but to a man.A collection of short, biography-like texts about moments in Lafayette's life with minor historical accuracies and major inaccuracies.





	1. Chapter 1

June air is different for everyone. For some it's mercilessly warm, steeped with a stench of sweat and alcohol squashed in the closest tavern, for others it's sultry from the cheap perfume of Boston's whores. The Versailles itself was suffocating with floral fragrances trying to smother much worse smells of the French court. Only the luckiest could breathe with clearer air found on the bosom of nature, while farming or hunting, but even there they were caught by relentless heat.

He stood proudly on the deck of Victoire. His gold-plated buttons shone in the summer sun which softly stang his pale skin. On his clean-shaven cheeks, he could feel faint touch of the cold wind that filled sails of their ship. For many people, this waft full of the sea's calming scent would be a salvation but that did not comfort him at all. The young aristocrat has been traveling for months tormented by sickness, doubts, and this rush to experience something so new and so different from what he knew. The longer the journey the more this longing seemed to inflame him. Since he has left France his mind and his body were fraught in a positive way, ready for something to happen. When he finally saw his journey’s destination he felt as if a grey curtain, sewn from uncertainty and anticipation, clouding his mind fell off. The fresh air filled his lungs with a breath of relief.

There it was. America. The dark and small buildings stood out from the bright sky and even though the docks looked less impressive than the French ones the twenty-year-old could feel that this land, between its houses, among the trees or in the fertile ground, was hiding something that would change his life forever.

His friends had asked him to stay in Paris. The king, _his king_ , had disapproved of his actions. His young wife had begged him not to take part in the war overseas. At some point, struggling with his conscience, remembering his wife's warm tears, the loveable smile of his daughter and having in mind everything that was telling him to stay he even turned the ship around. Yet with every mile sailed back in France's direction he began to realize one simple fact - his heart was dedicated to the American battle. The battle for freedom. The fight not only worth the sin of killing, but worth of dying for. And now he was here.


	2. Chapter 2

'Pardon me, sir, are you Marquis de Lafayette?' Gilbert heard a voice behind him. When he turned around he faced a short, young man whose auburn hair tied with the bluest ribbon looked like a fire ignited by the setting sun.

'At your service. With whom do I have the pleasure to speak with?' asked the French smiling charmingly at the stranger.

'Alexander Hamilton. At your service, sir. We haven't had a chance to me, however, as far as I am concerned we will be working together and I had to say that I admire your actions. I am, as well as the whole army, impressed and thankful for your initiative. To fight in a foreign war for freedom and liberty is something truly inspiring. I believe that we may share...'  The flow of words seemed endless. And Gilbert’s attention got lost in the wild blue eyes which reminded him of the storm at the sea. Not only their color had the exact hue as grey clouds reflecting blue of the waves but they were striking lightings of passion as the young soldier talked.

Lafayette realized that while he was observing Hamilton he did not stop talking for a moment. He could not help but laugh under his breath. 

'I just did what I thought was right. I was trying to stay true to what I believe in, sir.' he cut in briefly.

Hamilton returned Gilbert's warm smile.

‘And what is it that you truly believe in if I may ask?’ 

‘Well…’ he paused. ‘Glory, liberty, equality - among other things… sir.’ 

‘Alexander.’

‘Alexander’ he repeated savoring every letter. ‘You may call me Gilbert though out of my many names I prefer simply Lafayette.’

‘Well, I don’t see a problem with your name, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roche Gilbert du Motier’ Hamilton cracked a laugh as Lafayette’s eyes widened in shock. 

‘What can I say, my parents, baptized me after every saint who could help me in battle.’ he said with a hint of irony. 

‘Let’s hope they were right.’ Alexander didn’t stop smiling. ‘May I show you around the camp? You arrived only yesterday, I feel obliged to introduce you to the camp life. Believe me, I’m the best guide you could ask for.’

‘Certainly the most humble one. To be honest I didn’t have an opportunity to look around…’ his voice was unsure. 

Hamilton smile grew larger and wilder. 

‘Then let’s go’

Their lively conversation cut through the summer air as they walked around. Orphans, fighters, believers, dedicated to the cause… They had a lot in common. Alexander was charmed by Gilbert's enthusiasm, suavity, strength, bold words, and heavy French accent. Likewise, Lafayette was enchanted by eloquence, passion, intelligence and energetic aura of the American. Only did they realize that the night took over the sky leaving them in impenetrable darkness when they noticed how much they liked each other’s smiles. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Nine hours. Nine hours of constant canon blasts, quick bullets from the muskets cutting the air and the shine of fearsome British bayonets. Nine hours of maneuvering and shooting. Chaos and screams. Blue and red coats begrimed with blood.

Lafayette was waiting for an order impatiently. His heart was racing and his thoughts were unfocused as he fidgeted anxiously. He was scared. He would not even try denying that. But he was always taught that fear was good, it kept you alive. He was also eager to fight. It was his first real chance to prove himself so when he finally heard the orders he rushed into battle.

When he arrived at the battlefield the situation was tragic. The close range battle was almost petering out and the American troops retreated to offensive shooting from behind anything that could give them some cover. He took a musket. Aimed. Shot. Reloaded. Aimed. Shot. Helped other soldiers. Shouted at them to stay where they are. Keep. Fighting. And then one soldier, one madman, broke out of the line. The Marquis shouted after him to go back to the line but the soldier only turned to him with a wild smile and kept going forward, to the closest group of British soldiers.

Lafayette wasn't sure how was it possible but bullets seemed to skirt around the reckless soldier who pushed forward with a smile that was not leaving his lips even in the heat of the battle. With every second the young man got closer and closer to the unaware British who were not suspecting someone could get that far under the fire. When he reached the soldiers half of them was already shot but he swiftly wounded rest of them with a bayonet stolen from a fallen soldier and shoot the two other with a previously loaded gun. Gilbert watched the soldier as the rest of the British fell under the fire of American soldiers. With his harsh gaze and a wicked smile, he resembled some furious hero of the Golden Age.

A madman. Surely. Mad and suicidal. Coming to the front of the fire line meant the possibility of not only being shot by the enemy but also by your own troops. This man should be dead or at least wounded by now but he came back looking at Lafayette playfully.

'I'm just good at killing lobsters,' he paused and his smirk became larger. 'And I have incredible luck.'

'Impressive but stupid' commented Lafayette looking at the stranger. They couldn't say another word.

New orders.

Retreat.

Men started to fall back. The French aristocrat looked at the chaos in which they did with shock in his eyes. They could not retreat all at once. First, they have to evacuate the west line. Then they have to run to the river. Or they’ll be shot like fish in a barrel.

'To the river!' he shouted. For a second he looked the stranger in the eyes and run to the west line. 'Retreat! All men retreat to the river!'

Americans troops slowly left the battlefield. Or at least tried to. Lafayette watched in horror as soldiers were running off wherever they could, without a plan or a scheme. When he was shouting orders to another group of Americans he felt a sudden pain lancinating his leg. At first, it was cold and sharp. Then the pain turned into an almost burning sensation he tried to ignore. The stain of blood slowly grew bigger on his pant leg. Finally, he hid behind the nearest tree to inspect the wound.

'Need some help?' When he looked up he saw a familiar face framed with a mane of golden hair, a wild smile, and cheek covered in dirt and blood. He took him by the arm.

‘Not so lucky after all, are you?’ Lafayette shot a glance at the wound on the stranger’s leg, similar to his wound but the only answer he got was another cheeky smile.

Wounds and bruises did not stop them. They fought and lead the battle until it started to die down.

‘It’s time to go.’

‘I don’t think so. I’m still fighting. We’re still fighting.’ his French accent was almost cocky.

‘No, we’re not. The battle’s almost over. Most of the troops retreated already. Now is our turn.’ He grabbed Lafayette’s arm.

Lafayette sent him a sharp gaze, but soon he came back to his senses and lowered his gun.

‘And they say I’m the mad one. Right.’ he huffed sarcastically.

Soon the battle died down and they found themselves amongst the American troops. When they reached a big tree they sat down between its roots hidden from the sun under the leaves.

Breathing heavily they smiled at each other. They made it. They fought. They survived. Lafayette closed his eyes to rest a bit.

'Gilbert?! Dear Lord, are you fine?' Washington's voice above him made him open up his eyes. He looked to his side but the crazy soldier who helped him was already gone.

'The wound is not dangerous, general. I'm fine' Lafayette stated. He couldn't resist a vibrant laugh. 'I'm fine.'


	4. Chapter 4

The midday was warm and Lafayette took every opportunity to enjoy himself. He tried to relax by reading a new German novel which began to be quite popular in Europe and which he was attempting to read for the past few weeks but failed miserably due to the workload of the revolution. The story told of sorrows of a young man caught in the love triangle and Gilbert decided that maybe he will continue it another day. It made his heart heavy and he wanted to close the book, close his eyes and turn his face towards the sun not bothered by any heartaches. 

'Lafayette, this is lieutenant colonel John Laurens, our new fellow aide-de-camp and also a very charming gentleman from South Carolina.' Hamilton's joyful voice interrupted this serene moment as he introduced the two men to each other. 

Lafayette opened one eye. His brow rose in amusement as he turned to face John Laurens, the careless soldier with wild eyes and a smile lingering on his lips.

'It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Marquis.'

'I'm honored, Laurens' he smirked. His curiosity was unbearable. ‘What made you join our fight?’

‘Ah, the chance to carve out my name in history, of course.’ He was wild. And mad. But they were similar. And they could do it together. They will carve them out. They  _ will _ be remembered.

'From now on I tell you...' they heard Hamilton's voice. '...it will be the three of us against the world.'

A spark ignited in Laurens' green eyes. Gilbert let out a small sigh of amusement. Hamilton's grin widened. Pride and hope rose in their hearts. They did not know it yet but that moment had sealed their fates.


	5. Chapter 5

The dewy blades of grass tingled his hand as they laid down on the ground. It was late in the night but small room with three beds made it hard for them to fall asleep so they went outside. The nearest hill seemed like a perfect spot to watch the stars. And it was. Perfect. Despite the small amount of sleep or any convenience, a multitude of strategy meetings and battles it was the first time in his life he felt so fulfilled.

Lafayette still felt the taste of wine in his mouth. His head felt light and his mind was drifting and swirling like the night breeze around them. In the fresh, evening air he could hear the steady, almost calming, breathing of his friends who laid beside him.

'Do you think the British will suspect our attack?' Hamilton asked gently.

'Ha! They won't even know what hit them. There's no way they can foresee our attack near that village. It's a crazy move but surely an effective one' answered Laurens. Lafayette wondered if Laurens knew that he was almost describing himself.

'Well... And what about the intelligence? Lobsters have spies here and can be ready for us.'

'They can. But Tallmadge is good at his job. And so are you.' Lafayette calmed him.

Alexander helped Washington and Tallmadge with cooperating the spy ring and sometimes a hard sense of uncertainty crept into his heart making him restless around shadows. That duty, out of many, made him more tired.

‘I did not notice a table today until I walked onto it. How am I supposed to notice spies in our ranks?'

‘You’re just tired, Alexander. And there are a lot of other people responsible for this task’

'He’s right. This war is not only yours.' added Laurens.

'So what do you think their next move will be?' Lafayette purposely changed the topic and started their daily conversation.

And so they talked and they talked and they talked, with eyes shining with excitement about every new idea like the stars above them. They talked about revolution, liberty, slavery… Every word brought them relief and after hours of conversation, they found themselves swathed in silence. Not that kind of heavy silence when you feel out of place, but that sweet feeling that all the words have already been said and they understood each other, that sweet feeling when warmth covered their hearts and souls, that sweet feeling when their minds were free to wander.

'Do you think it's cold there?' asked Laurens suddenly.

'Where?' Hamilton's eyebrows furrowed slightly in disorientation.

'Among the stars.'

'It must be.' Hamilton's voice was soft. He turned to lay on his stomach to watch his unaware friends.

'I hate the cold, but the sky is so tempting…’

'I bet it's worth it. The cold, I mean. Just imagine being amongst the stars, amongst things so magical and mysterious, desired yet delicate, powerful and utterly beautiful.' Lafayette savored the moment.

'I don't have to imagine.' Alexander's smile was gentle. They did not ask him what he meant - they didn't need to know... or maybe they already knew. Some things are better left unsaid. 'Let's go to beds. It's getting darker. And cooler.'

They stood up in silence, but as they walked back to their quarters they couldn't help but smile, what quickly transformed into joyful nudging and laughs.

The revolution had its disadvantages but those nights were worth it. Every second of it.


	6. Chapter 6

For the young aristocrat, the Battle of Monmouth was a trial of his endurance. The fight was a hell full of musket bullets and scorching sun - an enemy as well of the British as of the Americans. Attacks and retreats seemed like moves of a dance they did not know increasing soldiers' disarray. Lafayette observed the chaos around him trembling with anger. All of their efforts, strategies, and preparations might be ruined by that old fool. Charles Lee commanded his men like he forgot about any kind of military strategy ignoring everything they discussed before but Lafayette was too tired to start another quarrel. He led his men wishing that maybe not all hope was lost.

The battle started dying down. Shots were less and less frequent until only ones they could hear were those coming from canons of the hostile camps. Yet the night was restless. Neither Washington, nor Lafayette, like hundreds of soldiers, hadn't slept a wink, ready to fend off the upcoming attack. The Marquis was on the verge of passing out. His lips trembled from exhaustion while he tried to focus as much as he could to be ready for the British troops when they would come but the night sky started to turn red and no one came.

'They're gone.' reported one of the soldiers after the reconnaissance. 'They must have marched out at night.'

The invisible grip on Frenchman's chest loosened. He looked at Washington, a shadow of a smile lingering on his lips, and in the older man's eyes, he saw relief. They did not win this battle but they survived.

'It's time to rest.' declared the general with serenity.

In the very moment, Lafayette entered his tent he was hit by a wall of hot air. He knew that even in his current state it was impossible to fall asleep in this broiler. For a second he stood in his shelter exasperated by not knowing what should he do with himself. At last, he walked out of the tent resignedly admitting to himself that he won't sleep today. As soon as he folded tent's flaps he noticed familiar silhouette wandering off from the camp.

'General?' he asked running up to Washington. 'If I may ask, sir, don't you intend to rest?'

Washington smiled under his breath.

'I do. But I'm not willing to suffocate or boil myself. I decided that a nap outside, with gentle wind and shadow, is better than warmed, not aerated tent.'

'Brilliant idea, sir' responded the marquis scolding himself in his mind that he did not think about that simple solution.

'Would you like to join me?' asked Washington noticing his resentful face.

'Does it behooves, sir?'

'I have no idea, but in my opinion, we earned some rest.'

Lafayette smiled. Obviously, the General did not care what others thought about such intricacies.

'Then I'd be honored to join you' he agreed.

'That chestnut looks nice, doesn't it?'

They laid on the soft grass surrounding one of the bigger trees. To Lafayette, the ground felt more comfortable than more than any bed he slept in. Suddenly, he felt like this little boy who spent his days in the gardens of Chateau de Chavaniac avoiding everyone just to climb trees, chase birds and play a soldier who fought with invisible enemy hidden in the trees. A lot has changed since then.

One last time he looked at Washington who was lying beside him and with a smile on his lips gave in in this battle for consciousness he fought with himself. He felt safe. He felt useful. Finally, he felt like he really belonged somewhere.

Washington observed the sleeping boy. He meant so much to him and probably did not even realize it. He adored his honest smile and childish spark of amusement when he discovered some new phenomenon of American culture or his occasional humoristic comments. He admired the precise, sharp mind that despite his young age allowed him to go so far. This wasn't his fight but despite that, he stood with them shoulder to shoulder. Gilbert was a living personification of enthusiasm, hope and all they thought for. To Washington, the French aristocrat meant much more than he could describe. He loved him like a son he never had.   
If he loved him like a son was it bad or selfish that he was proud that Gilbert was part of this bloody revolution? He felt guilty but the fact that Lafayette was at his side in this fight made him happy.

Feeling the morning wind quelling the warm air he took of his coat and affectionately enshrouded them with the delicate material. The last thing he felt before falling asleep was Lafayette snuggling closer to him, and his heart filling with love.


	7. Chapter 7

He left the revolution aware that he wasn't needed. Despite this, his whole stay in France Lafayette felt the urging need for a quick return. It was like waves carving out the stone - subtle yet persistent, slowly tiring him. At first, he explained that as accustomization. After such a long time in America, he needed time to again understand the etiquette of the French court, but he quickly realized that wasn't the case. 

He looked down at the sight of blue ribbons. He couldn't force himself to speak English. With regret, he admitted that lying in comfortable beds of french bedrooms you can't see the starry sky. Subconsciously he looked for an excuse to immediately return to America. 

When he finally got on the ship he hoped the longing will fade, but it only surged with intensity. The journey across the ocean, that he hated so much, felt even longer,  but when he reached his destination and saw them again… The General’s shy hug, Alexander’s eyes, and Laurens’ smile made his soul shine with feelings he could not even describe. All of them were still there when he came back. All missing him as dearly as he missed them. All was well.


	8. Chapter 8

The morning was windy and unpleasant. One could hear the wind swirling between branches covered with leaves that slowly started to turn brown. Pensive mood took over American troops. Some could expect joy and pride from capturing a British spy, but almost everyone was mired in silence. Lafayette looked at the general pleadingly one last time, hoping that he may still change his mind, but after all Washington's intransigence was one of the traits that the young aristocrat always admired. 

Always, except that day.

The Frenchman was seating on a horse. Waiting. His eyes wandered from yellowed branches of the trees to the mud on soldiers' boots avoiding the somber gallows around which everyone gathered. Something created commotion in the crowd and soon the young marquis saw its source. Major John Andre. Dressed in his British uniform he walked slowly, but resolutely towards his unavoidable destiny. 

The Britishman was an impressive person. Major Andre never pleaded for freedom. Never begged to spare his life. His only wish as a captive was for his sentence to be executed by the firing squad - as every officer should be.

When he was close enough, the small crowd parted revealing to him the gallows and the confidence in his steps disappeared. He stopped.

Hanging.

Gilbert saw panic on his face when he intuitively took a step back and shaking slightly straightened with dignity to continue his final march. 

It wasn't fair. Everyone was aware of Andre's rank and so hanging him as a spy was cruel. Gilbert couldn't get rid of the thought that this inglorious end may wait for them if they lose. The British won't consider them officers and generals. They will be traitors and rebels. They will hang all of them and their bodies will be dumped into a nameless hole in the ground - forgotten for eternity. But that was no reason to act likewise. They should be better. John Andre was educated, polite and eloquent. John Andre was dedicated to the British cause. John Andre fought for what he believed in. As their eyes met, only for a second, Gilbert saw the hidden fear and he saw himself. He saw Alexander. He saw John. Standing with ropes around their necks. 

When Lafayette watched as major took out two flawlessly white handkerchiefs, with which he tied his arms and eyes, he couldn't find any difference between the young officer and himself. He would love to believe otherwise, but they were not different at all. Furthermore, he felt as he understood him. 

Tears rose in Gilbert's blue eyes. This shouldn't be happening. This wasn't fair. This…

'If you wish to say your last word, sir, now is the time' declared Colonel Scammel.

Andre lifted the handkerchief covering his eyes and looked at the faces in the crowd. He was afraid but ready for what was about to happen.

'I pray you to bear me witness that I meet my fate like a brave man.' Is that really all that matters? Are their lives nothing more than bravery and honor? When did they trade lives for ideals? Andre seemed to be hesitating over saying more, but as he drew another breath the wagon was removed from under him and the rope straightened. 

Gilbert felt the tears on his cheeks. The world around blurred and whirled. That’s what the revolution did. It broke people. It broke everyone it could reach. For some, it took years, months, for others weeks but in the end, everyone broke down. Every boy with big dreams was crashed by reality. Every believer fell. Something changed, leaving a mark forever, stating that the world was not how they dreamt it. And at that moment something broke in Lafayette leaving him with an icy scar on his soul.

The body was removed and the crowd began to trail away. Washington looked at his friend with compassion and regret. He came closer wanting to say something but changed his mind. As he hurried his horse going back to his tent, Lafayette caught the shine of a familiar metal. The saber. A gift from Lafayette. A beautiful, carefully decorated saber which Washington promised to bring with him to funerals of his best officers and soldiers as a reminder and sign of gratitude and appreciation. It made his chest clench. Why? Why did he bring it today if he was the one who denied Andre his last wish? He did not understand. Or maybe he did not want to understand.

Staring at the rope still hanging at the gallows the young boy was frozen. By his anger. By his sadness. By his own helplessness. Only his tears fell down one after another. His heart quivered in fear as someone took his hand.

'You're shaking' Alexander stated simply.

Gilbert looked at him bluntly, still unable to control his emotions. 

'Let's get you back to our quarters.' 

And so they did. When they were finally shielded from unwanted stares Alexander held him tight.

'Alex, it's not right... It shouldn't be done this way...' Lafayette hysterically repeated over and over.

'I know, I know.' 

Did he? He could not. He never told anyone but the gallows’ rope haunted Lafayette in his nightmares. He woke up with tightness around his neck and tears in his eyes. Hanging was for spies. Hanging was for traitors… but if they lose they will be traitors. No legacy. No glory. But what if his fellow soldiers knew everything about him… Maybe it were not only British that he should be afraid of… There were things they would not accept no matter how many times soft whisper will tell him not to worry. There were things that could not be forgiven or understood, things that disgusted others. His thoughts, his emotions, his actions… If all of him, his darkest fears and his darkest desires, were revealed and presented to Washington, would he order to have him executed? Would he be disgusted by his son? He could imagine the hate in General’s eyes. Nevertheless, all this fear could change nothing. Even if he could Lafayette would not change a single thing in his life. He was stuck in this unsolved impasse where every step could lead to his ruin. The only way to survive was to forget about the need to survive. The only way was to lose oneself and forget about the world. So he laughed. He fought. He loved. Was it enough?

They laid in a bed and lasted in an embrace. Hamilton was silent. Lafayette wept quietly into his neck. They clung to each other as if their lives depended on it until they fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Lafayette lively entered his office. He noticed some new letters on his desk and started to go through them. The war was won long ago. The last major battle, the battle of Yorktown, finished the war and gave birth to a new, free nation. The Marquis had to leave America and start his work in France, but every day he awaited the letters from Alexander, John or the General. While he flipped through the correspondence he noticed an odd envelope. The paper was rough and the seal was simple. The letter was from South Carolina but it was not from Laurens. With a bad feeling about this, he opened the envelope. His eyes flitted through the letter stumbling on impossible words. Killed. Gunfight. Over. Freedom... dies with him.

John was dead.

His John was dead. That young madman who was always able to make him laugh. His companion in battles for glory. John who always looked at others with love and compassion. John whose laugh always reminded him of sunlight. John who under that cocky mask was broken… Alexander was the only person who could put his broken pieces together, but Lafayette smoothed their edges and made sure they never fell apart again… Thoughts, glances, words...

The paper fell out of his hand. No. No, it can't be true. No. The war was over. They were safe. They won. They won but his John was gone.

Once, he wrote about him that it was not his fault that he was not killed or wounded, he did everything that was necessary to procure one or the other but he survived the war. Survived the war only to die when they finally gained freedom. Did John even know about their victory? Lafayette wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure of anything. Did John know how dear he was to him?

Lafayette fell to his knees. The thought that he will never see those green eyes full of passion was unreal. Green? Or maybe blue? He was taken over by panic. He can't forget. He can't. Not him. Not now... He can't forget. He cannot forget. 


	10. Chapter 10

He had to come back. He wrote letters to America, he wrote to Hamilton more than ever. He wanted to distract him from the tragedy, somehow cheer him up but the replies were rare. Alexander was lost somewhere between petitions and Congress' documents unreachable for Lafayette. So he had to come back.

Standing on the bow of the ship he gazed on the harbor which was getting closer with every second. The memories of his first journey to America became more vivid. The summer air was as merciless as those seven years ago but a lot changed since then. He was no longer filled with that youthful excitement and the docks weren't so empty and hostile. He searched for auburn hair tied with blue ribbon but the sea of silhouettes on the harbor's boards prevented marquis from completing that task.

When he finally stepped on the squeaking, American wood of dock's boards he was approached by that one person he was looking for. Alexander Hamilton. Last three years, especially the last one left their mark on him. He had dark bags under his eyes occasionally lit by passionate sparks. When he flashed his old friend a smile, that smile which was able to charm everyone with its honesty, Lafayette could sense that was his first smile in a long time.

'For a second I thought you would just send a carriage for me, sir' said the Frenchman jokingly.

'I considered it for a second,' admitted Alexander. 'but old friends are more important than new financial plans.'

All the way to Hamilton's residence they talked. Lafayette summed up the situation in France for Hamilton and Alexander returned the favor by a lecture about his new financial plan and the brink of ruin on which America stood. When they reached Hamilton's house Elizabeth welcomed them.

'You look as lovely as always, madame.' the Marquis noted. Alexander's wife looked like a charming person. Her dark, brown hair was tightly pinned up. She moved her slender hands gracefully. Her eyes were full of love and her every smile showed lovely dimples. 'It's an honor to be your guest. I can't describe how thankful I am to stay here...'

'You're always a welcomed guest in our house, Marquis de Lafayette.'

When they started dining the conversation spread to every topic. They talked about politics. They talked about travels. They talked about the future. They talked and they talked and they talked. But they didn't mention the past. The memories that the Lafayette so desperately wanted to freshen up turned out to be a topic which made to room silent.

'And how is Adrienne? I hope that we will have a chance to meet someday. Surely, she is charming...' Eliza swiftly changed the topic.

Lafayette's gaze lingered on Hamilton who suddenly became interested in the white fabric of the napkin. He felt a pang of betrayal. He looked back at Eliza and proposed a journey to France.

The dinner ended when Hamilton lifted a candle from a nearby coffee table.

'Let me show you to the guest room' he said and walked out of the bright dining room onto the dark corridor. The walked slowly but in silence. When they reached the right doors Hamilton stopped.

'It's here. Your luggage should be already inside.' Alexander declared with excessive politeness.

'Just drop that stupid smile already. I know it's fake.' Gilbert’s voice was harsher than he intended. 

Hamilton did not respond. He turned on his hill ready to leave.

'Alexander...' A hand on his hip turned him around. Lafayette stood so close to him that even in the fading light of the candle Alexander could see the tears in his angry eyes. 'Don't you dare. Don't you dare walk away and pretend that nothing happened. How can you deny our youth? How can you deny him? Pretend that everything is fine? Pretend that nothing happened?! That you never knew him...'

'I don't!' he shouted but soon his voice became a soft and tired whisper. 'I do not. Every restless night spent working on documents and writing letters, every fight and every attempt is for him. Everything I do - is for him. It just... It hurts. Remembering hurts and I remember everything. I remember those nights spent looking at the stars. I remember his soft hair and hard gaze. I remember his laugh and his tears, so rare and precious. And I know he didn't deserve this but sometimes I just want to lose myself in work and never even think about him again. Never think anything. But even after twenty hours of work, after glasses of alcohol, after... I'm falling apart.'  he paused. 'Sometimes I think I can hear his voice, you know? I hear how he laughs at my next joke, criticizes that I don't respond to the letters. I hear him and I don't want to hear anything. I try to stifle that voice by every means. I don't even know if I'm sane or is all of this just a cruel trick of a sick mind... Am I going crazy? Am I?'

'No.' fell a quiet response. 

'I'm just trying to make everything as it was before but nothing can be as it was... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'No. That’s enough.' he stopped him. For a second he thought that only he was suffering, that Alexander no longer cared but now he realized how selfish and wrong was that thought. Of course, Alexander suffered.

The young American who stood in front of him shivered and his cheeks were wet with tears. Lafayette carefully embraced him returning one of many gestures and affections of their past. At first Alex did not react but eventually, he returned the affection and his small body shaken by soundless sobs.

'You can't keep doing this to yourself. You are not insane but you have to let yourself grieve.  I know it’s easier to forget but we have to remember. There’s no one else that will. You have to accept this. You have to realize... John is gone. But we're not and...'

'And it's not fair! Our lives weren't supposed to turn out like this. He was supposed to be here. With us.'

'I know. But he's not. And the only thing we can do is protect his legacy and keep fighting. For our beliefs. For his beliefs.'

‘I wanted to do so many things for him… I even went there… Found her… But she… She looked… I couldn’t. I didn’t want to save her…’ Lafayette looked at his friend who spoke like in a fever.

When they heard footsteps they quickly parted.

'I have to go' said Alexander quickly. Lafayette’s eyes searched Hamilton’s face for a moment, looking for any clue about what he was going to say, who was he talking about, what did he hide but Alexander put on a mask of indifference and the shine in his eyes was the only evidence of his tragedy. The Marquis trusted that someday his friend will open to him again and confess everything that tormented his soul. He would wait for him.

'Of course,' Lafayette’s voice was soft. 'Goodnight.'

'Sleep well...' Alexander turned around and left. For a moment Lafayette stood in the cold corridor watching the fading candlelight.

Keep fighting. They changed muskets to words. They fought. Hamilton worked on the financial plan and buttress banks for the good of the country. Lafayette traveled across America speaking against slavery and about freedom. Keep fighting.


	11. Chapter 11

At last, the moment came. Revolution. The convocation of the Estates-General, the assault on the Bastille, writing the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. Soon they started to build a new country founded on equality, liberty and enlightening. The Hero of Two Worlds, the Commander of National Guard saw how every day brought more chaos, violence, and hatred to Paris. And one day they came for him, barged into his home with fire and blades.

They woke up in the middle of the night hearing screams and thudding on the doors. In his wife's eyes, he saw fear.

'Hide yourself and children.' he commanded, yet she did not move struck with fear. ‘Adrienne, go!’

'Come with us.' she asked with power in her voice. She was not struck with fear. She was standing her ground. Lafayette looked at her, his gaze became gentler. Adrienne. Soft, dark hair. A smile that made the whole room brighter. And those eyes. Always calm. Always except that night.

'It'll be fine. I'll be fine. I can handle it' he assured her and put on his coat.

Adrienne came closer to him and laid a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth before running out to hide children and herself. Lafayette took a weapon, a pistol and went to face the angry mob.


	12. Chapter 12

The revolution wasn't glorious as he imagined. Day by day hundreds of people were forced under the guillotine. Crowds of innocents. There was nothing glorious about it. There was no strategy. Every change in the government meant another slaughter of not only political opponents but common folk. All it took to kill someone was an accusation. Justice was replaced by fear, law by obsession.

'It wasn't supposed to end like that.' He paraphrased the bitter words he once heard. The whisper changed into a cloudlet of steam surrounded by cold air.

The cell was empty except the bed next to the wall and dirt that covered the floor for years. The Marquis did not mind the filth but the cold was more than annoying. The room wasn't wintry but it was cool enough for coldness to slowly creep into his body. The only way of heating himself was walking around the small room and a scratchy blanket which kept him warm at night as he laid looking at the grey ceiling of his cell. 

He did not feel lonely. He felt isolated. He was painfully aware that the world still remembers him, while he was stuck there. A few weeks ago he tried to run away. The escape was organized by Angelica. Lafayette smirked. Sometimes he felt she was so fierce that nothing could stop her from fighting for the ones she cared about. He often wondered if she shouldn't be the one who led the revolution. Despite the attempt, he was captured and threw back to the chilly cell. 

From the rare letters, he received he knew that Angelica was not the only person fighting for him. Adrienne, his sweet Adrienne, set out on a journey ready to do anything to bring him back. The thought filled his heart with warmth. He loved her. He was with many women - some of those acquaintances he regretted, others, as much as he felt guilty about it, not - however Adrienne was more than his wife. She was extraordinary, gentle, kind and she was too good for him.

The dull pain coming from his old wound in the leg increased because of the cold. He considered walking around to warm himself but that would only cause more pain. So he laid on the wooden cot covered by a rough blanket trying to ignore the ache. 

To give himself something to occupy his mind with he did the only things that you can do in a locked cell. He started to pray.

'God, I know that we don't agree on some things,' he could swear he smelled the fresh, hot, summer air fill his lungs. 'But I trust you and I need one thing. I... I just want them to be safe. Please, may my family be safe in all of this endless cycle of blood' he whispered and slowly felt as sleep crept into his mind soothing his senses.


	13. Chapter 13

He left prison only to realize that for him, the whole France was turned into one. 

As he sat on the window ledge looking at the city behind the glass. A few days ago tragic information came to Paris. Another letter which horrified the marquis. Another letter filled with bad news. George Washington, his protector, his friend, his General... was dead.

Somewhere on the streets of Paris was held a memorial in Washington's remembrance. A ceremony that Lafayette was clearly forbidden to attend. He could not even officially mourn someone who was so important to him. He was stuck. And as he sat staring into the landscape of the city, listening to those delicate sounds made by empty houses, he became a victim of dismal thoughts. His old world, his past, began to fall apart. Day by day everything was fading. And he was stuck here. He would give anything to be on the other side of the ocean, to say goodbye to that evanescing reality and savor the remaining crumbs of the past. Deep inside, he was excruciated by the pain of holding onto the past, that was already over. His youth, those feelings, those moments... will never come back. 

A few tears rolled down his cheeks as he touched his head to the cold glass. He was tired. Too tired and too lonely. The time he spent in the prison proved to be hard, but now he felt lonelier than ever. He wrote letters. He wrote to Alexander. More than he ever did. But the only response he got was silence. It wasn't Alexander's fault. Most of the letters did not even reach him. At first, Gilbert thought that Alexander referred only to parts of his letters, but he soon realized that it was censorship that erased his words. After a while, his letters weren't sent at all. They slowly waited at the bottom of postal cabinets to be found, years later, and burned. He wanted to write to Hamilton. He longed to talk to him. He would be grateful for any word from him. Any. But all the letters he got were fake. Made just so he wouldn't notice the lack of correspondence from America. So he sat. Silent. Filled with fading memories and unspoken words. Something inside of him slowly died as his old world started to fall apart.


	14. Chapter 14

1804 was a tragic year. First, France was enslaved by a dictatorship. The dream he once dreamt was officially forbidden and the destiny of the country was fixed. They wanted freedom. They got an Emperor. Lafayette felt even more imprisoned. He was a relic of the past - filled with antediluvian ideals, trapped by the country for which liberty he once fought. Nonetheless, that fight availed only in bloodshed. 

Coronation of Napoleon was a historic event that forever shaped the history of France, an event that should be the Marquis’ biggest regret, greatest tragedy. Yet what is a tragedy of a country against the tragedy of a single man?

12th of July. It was 12th of July. If he only knew about that damned duel... If he knew earlier... He would try to leave. Sail. Ride. Gallop. Run... Only to reach him on time. But when the tragedy of 12th of July reached France it was too late.

Lafayette couldn't get rid of that stubborn feeling that Alexander died alone. Of course, he was surrounded by his family, but Gilbert should be there too. He should stand by his side. Say goodbye.  _ Remind him _ . Tell him so many things... There was so much he wanted to hear. He would give up his life only for a few days, a few last hours together. They had not seen each other for so long... Instead of a few last hours, the Marquis was given an empty hole in his heart. Another person he loved died far away from him.

His sleep was tormented by nightmares. In the silent night, he heard shots. He saw blood every time he closed his eyes. In his mind, he was haunted by silhouettes of his loved ones. He woke up. He stared at the ceiling till the tears dried in his eyes. He woke up. He curled into a ball of pain amongst the white sheets. He woke up. He wanted to scream, but all that left his lips was silence. 


	15. Chapter 15

He tried not to think about it. Oblivious to his own hypocrisy, he tried not to think about the past. Usually, he tried not to think at all, just trying to focus on the things he had to do, on planned events or other mundane trivialities. He knew that if he remembered those warm nights, that fight, those feelings he may not be able to confront them. 

Suddenly France wasn't such a cramped prison. Slowly he regained scraps of trust. He finally thought that he may settle down in this golden cage and live the rest of his days looking for oblivion. And then another letter. The message spread. His old friend, Thomas Jefferson, asked him to come back to America. The invitation wavered the steady life he tried to live. But he couldn't. He could not accept it.

He accepted the fact that he shall never return there. He killed that hope long ago. And yet, there, right in front of him, was a chance of going back. Should he let himself enjoy that delusive hope? Even if he sailed across the ocean, what would happen? What will he find? Emptiness. Black void of painful memories. He wanted to help Thomas, he really did, but he couldn't. Not yet.

Despite turning it down this offer stayed in his thought like a torn. Every day he had to remind himself that it was not the time, that he would not find there what he was looking for, that his wounds haven't healed yet. When Adrienne fell ill he knew that he won't leave her alone. His sweet Adrienne, his wife, the woman that loved him all his life, through all of his victories and all of his mistakes. So many were took away from him... He could not let her die alone. So he stayed at her side. 

That Christmas were too cold.


	16. Chapter 16

When he finally set a foot on his promised land it was too late. Many years too late. But he was there, in America, to finally make peace with the past. He expected America to change. And it did, only not in the ways he thought it would. The grass was still green. Uniforms still shone with blue. The birds sang joyfully as always. Laundresses sang while hanging the sheets. The sky filled with small clouds was illuminated with sunshine. People threw parties and balls. The world kept spinning, but the docks grew bigger. That memorable tree under which he napped with Washington was cut down. Amongst the faces surrounding him, he couldn't spot those green eyes lighted by a spark of amusement. In the crowd, he could not see that blue ribbon. He was happy that he came back to his second homeland, the country that once adopted him, but in his heart, he felt disappointment and pain caused by disillusioned hope. What was he even hoping for so foolishly? In his heart, the Marquis grieved.

And then the ball took place. A welcoming ball organized for the veterans of the revolution. That night felt oneiric. He floated amongst pastel dresses occasionally caught by a conversationalist. Some of the faces were familiar so they talked about old times, battles searched for mutual friends and experiences. To those who he did not recognize he was almost caustic - he led polite conversation yet he was ready to let it die any moment and hide from everyone like a wounded animal. After hours, all those faces blurred obscured by the music and pastel colors swirling on the dance floor. When he finally rested in bed, not a cot, and looked at the silence of the empty room, which he did not have to share with anyone anymore, he realized what he had to do. He observed as the darkest hours passed and when the dawn came he set off to New York.

He knocked on the doors of the small house. She opened the door. Once tightly pinned hair now slipped away from the grey bun. Her hands weren't so smooth and the naive love in her eyes thanks to the experience of old age was replaced by cautious warmth. Yet her smile and those little dimples remained unchanged. Ignoring the etiquette she hugged him. For a brief moment, they dwelled in the comforting embrace and then silently she let him inside. They sat on beautiful armchairs with floral patterns sewn into them. The silence grew, but Gilbert knew he did not have to say anything. He knew Eliza understood him. She felt his outdated grief and wanted to spare him the ache that she knew so well. They were older, so much older, than the first time they met, but both of them felt like young lovers left on the mercy of the feelings they could not quite understand - old pain and love which they did not let fade. 

After a few teacups and a time of silent reassurance, they started to talk. They talked about everything. They talked about nothing. They talked and they talked and they talked... and again the calm silence fell between them. 

Lafayette refilled his cup with hot tea and lifted himself from the comfortable seat. He walked across the room and stopped in front of the window opening to the garden. At this time of the day, the petite boulevard of trees and flowers looked charming. Their intense green exquisitely matched that shine of auburn hair and deep blue ribbon. A young man led by instinct turned around and faced the window. His grey eyes sparkled with delight and curiosity.

It hit him. Once again Lafayette felt like a naughty boy who climbed trees. And this time he fell down. His body was shocked by the impact of the invisible incident. He couldn't breathe. He opened his mouth but did not make a sound. His eyes filled with tears. How? Why? He did not understand and the only thing that occupied his mind was a single word. Four syllables. Nine letters.

Alexander. 

Something inside of him burst as on the verge of consciousness he felt himself falling to the ground.


	17. Chapter 17

As he opened his eyes to the invasive light of the candles everything was explained to him. Obviously, it was his son. It had to be. The Marquis upbraided himself for those foolish thoughts. 

Lafayette couldn't stay there. He could not spend any minute longer under the same roof with that boy. Gilbert knew it wasn't Hamilton's fault that he looked like his father, although he looked precisely as he remembered him. That young boy with whom he fought. That young boy who he held in his arms all those years ago. Looking at his son, he deluded himself into thinking that was Alexander. But he was not, so he hurried to the carriage and told the coachman to drive him to the only place in New York that he remembered and was ready to face. 

Despite the growth of New York, the old tavern was empty. As a matter of fact, it was the middle of the night, the time when places like that tended to be quite vibrant. Not this one. The place was just another relic of the past. Just like Lafayette.

They visited this place all those years ago. The favorite bar of Alexander and John. Back in the day, it was also his favorite. They usually sat at the table in the corner, the one marked with jagged edges and covered by warm candlelight debated, laughed and sang. Here they talked about the revolution, cheered and dreamed about the new world that was being created in their minds. Even though the Marquis thought he had lost those visions in the abyss of his mind now he conjured up memories precisely. Their laugh, their gaze. The warmth of a hand on his hand. The curve of a smiling lip.

Seating at the table the coldness of wood seemed unbearable. The blurry moonlight coming through the window made the quiet room look dreamy. Looking at the empty chairs at empty tables he felt his heart aching with indescribable pain.

He heard laughs made by the passing shadows on the other side of the window.

That revolution should not have happened. America consumed Laurens. America consumed Hamilton. That new country, that new nation was built on the ground red from blood and Lafayette couldn't help, but wonder if it was worth it. He witnessed so much death, so many misfortunes, so many tears. Sometimes he asked himself if he allured them. How many lives was the liberty worth? Was it worth thousands? Hundreds? Was it worth two? Looking back at revolutions devouring its children he knew the answer - no. He would give anything to erase that revolution so it would not happen and they could seat here beside him. He would give up everything for a moment of life amongst this grave silence. 

He laughed sharply. His laugh soon became a sob. They would hate him for thinking like that. He would hate himself. They would prefer to die than stop fighting and they did. They died honorably leaving him alone. He could not forgive himself. He should have died on that battlefield with John. He should have stood in Alexander's place during the duel. He shouldn't be here anymore. 

In his life, he was taught how to fight, how to die but no one prepared him for his gray hair or the slight pain in the joints when he moved. No one taught him how to live… Or just maybe his only teachers left him long ago... He should have died, beautiful death like they did. 

But then again, was there even something like a beautiful death? All his years should have taught him already. There's nothing honorable or beautiful about dying. Remembering his old advice, he laughed and his bitter voice reminded him who he was not. Keep fighting. Keep fighting. But how? When everyone’s gone and you’re all alone there’s no one to fight with but yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> That's it. I hope you enjoyed the story.  
> I would like to thank my wonderful beta and everyone who left a comment.  
> Thank you for every nice word and thank you for reading.   
> I hope this story will stay with you for some time. Bye <3


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